


Oh, Jude.

by unitedstateofpeacecitizen



Series: In Our Life [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Explicit Language, F/M, Genderbending, Homophobic Language, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unitedstateofpeacecitizen/pseuds/unitedstateofpeacecitizen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's August 2nd when the nausea starts. </p><p>The 21st, when she finally sees that damn doctor. </p><p>She was never getting out, now. </p><p>They'd go to toppermost of the poppermost without her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Jude.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the description is really lacking, isn't it? But there we go. 
> 
> This chapter begins Monday, August 20th 1962, backstage at the Majestic Ballroom in Crewe, Cheshire.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

~

"Go-- _od_. Wha' the fuck? I feel like've taken one too many shots, and I haven't had nothin' to drink!" 

As all four girls poured into the cramped, stuffy dressing room, blouses stuck to their chests from _baking_ under the hot stage lights, Joan's complaints only made the situation worse. The words continued to flow even as she walked up behind Paula, jerking the younger's soaked shirt tails from her high-waisted pencil skirt and hiking it up to untie the girl from her tight, girdled prison.

"Well, if it's so _damn_ awful, maybe ya should see a doctor-- 'stead'a bitchin' about it after ev'ry show." A groan of concurrence from the other two followed Paula's words, and she narrowly avoided Lennon's elbow as it shot out to seek revenge for said words. "All'a ya can get _stuffed_! If I wanna bitch, I'll bitch-- _Pft_ , and you lot'll just _deal_ with it."

To foreign ears, it might have sounded malicious, especially rolling off of _Joan's_ notoriously _cutting_ tongue; but even Rachel, the newest member of the group, knew by now that, that was just Joan's way. She didn't mean anything by it-- when it was towards her mates, at least. That idea was only concreted a few second later, when the brunette went out of her way to light Georgina's ciggie, before her own, without so much as a second thought or hesitation. 

 _Wipe off the makeup, lose the heels, unzip the skirts, let the hair down, get Joan's fuckin' glasses back on her face._ It was nice. The post-show routine usually stayed quite constant. It was one of the only constants these days, really. 

Unfortunately, all four of the young, optimistic Liverpudlian girls were ignorant to the drastic change that laid just around the corner.

Spun on her bare heel, Joan strode over to the faded, tan rotary phone and picked up the receiver, beginning to dial it as she held it to her cheek and glanced over her shoulder, "Anything t'drink?" Came the all _too_ familiar question, directed to whoever might be listening. _"Well hey there, handsome-- Did I wake ya?~"_

You would never guess that Joany Lennon had a steady from the way she acted, well, _**all** the time. _ She never turned down an offered drink. 'Never said _no_ to a cute lad after a show, unless she was otherwise occupied or her famous temper was flaring up. But for reasons Paula couldn't understand, Charles loved that girl. Offering her flowers and chocolate what seemed every day. Giving her a few quid for more cigarettes whenever Mimi found her stash. He was _smitten_. It was for those reasons that Paula's blood boiled to watch Joan lead lad after lad backstage after a set. Back to hotel rooms. Back to fuckin' closets, even. Not that she didn't love the older girl to death, but Paula knew what a **shit** girlfriend Lennon really was. 

Even years later, looking back, McCartney would regret not speaking up about it. For not trying _harder_ to tell Charlie all that _really_ went on when he wasn't around. But... He knew, didn't he? Of course he knew. But he didn't _care_. **_Fuck_** , if that wasn't _real_ love, Paula didn't know what was. 

As she shifted the phone to her opposite ear, Joan reached out for a glass of whatever Geo had gone and found amongst the room's various stores of old costume pieces and leftover musical mouthpieces. Finger flexing impatiently for the glass as she continued to spew words of milk and honey to her seemingly ignorant beau, Joan downed it all in one go as soon as the glass tumbler was within reach. _"-- Mhm, I got it. Yea', well. I'll try to be 'round sometime tomorrow. That 'okay? -- Gear. Right after that doctor's appointment'a mine. Nah', I'm okay t'go alone. What?_ " Paula watched as Joan faltered, turning away from the group just a bit more as Charles spoke those three tell-tale words over the line. He always did, these days. And Joan _always_ replied--  

_"Oh, oh, yea'. Me too. See ya."_

No sooner than the leader had hung up, Paula spoke up with a scoff, her own downed glass of rum having loosened her usually _lady-lik_ e lips significantly. "Ya know, he's gonna get tired'a that shit one day. That lad loves ya, when're you gonna start sayin' in back?"

The room went quiet. Geo and Rachel were both lounged on the adjacent, worn leather love seat together, their quiet chatter silenced by Paula's words. They looked to Joan, who still had her back to the rest of the room, hand lingered on the receiver. With the alcohol down, she was _completely_  unpredictable. Joan might laugh at the words. She might even agree with Paula. Or she might break her nose. Each new possibility was just as likely as the last. _No one_ got to talk to Lennon like _that_  and live, but Paula. _No one_ was allowed to scold her for her infedelities but the dark-haired bass player, her best mate. 

Much to the relief of the two waiting girls, Joan shrugged, taking a deep drag of her ciggie and blowing it out with her words, "Me? Love 'em? Yer' daft, you are. Know what happens when ya fall in love, girls?" Her attention swayed from Paula to Rachel and Geo, who shook their heads, unwilling to anger the band's leader with smart remarks.

Joan scoffed, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, "Ya get _fucked_ over. They take yer' dreams and crush 'em up. Make ya a housewife, cleanin' and cookin' and poppin' out little bastards left an' right. Well, not **us**." The glasses-clad young woman pushed past the sulking bass player to get to the open bottle of rum sat on the counter. "We're gettin' the hell outta dodge. Outta Liverpool. We're gonna be the best'a the best, girls." She continued, the bottle perched on her bottom before she took a deep swig, holding it to the air in a toast.

_"Where're we goin' girls?"_

Half hearted groans filled the room as they answered, too tired and too buzzed for the usual romping.

_"I **said** , where're we goin' girls!?"_

_May as well answer_ , they figured. When Joan asked you _that_ question, she expected _that_ answer.

_"The Toppermost of the Poppermost, Joany!"_

_" **Right**!"_

~


End file.
